


Burgeon

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cousin Incest, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 21:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5020759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A change in Maedhros proves Fingon foolish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burgeon

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Silmarillion or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It isn’t difficult, once he sets his mind to it; he knows Findekáno like the back of his hand. He’s lithe and careful footed and manages to slip down the corridor with no sound of his footsteps, even to Findekáno’s perceptive ears. When he makes it just behind his unsuspecting cousin, he double-checks that they’re alone, and he shoots out a hand to fist in Findekáno’s hair. 

Findekáno gasps instantly, head jerking back, and he spins with sudden grace, clearly ready to defend himself, though surprise is the main emotion across his face. When he sees it’s only Maitimo, he pales, and Maitimo grabs him by the sleeve instead so as not to hurt him, pulling him quickly beneath a decorative archway into a lesser-used courtyard.

Maitimo’s hand lingers on Findekáno’s tunic longer than it should. When he does break it away, he can see the guilt in Findekáno’s eyes. But he offers no explanation, so Maitimo has to whisper first, “Why have you been avoiding me?”

Findekáno shifts awkwardly on his feet. He looks down through his long lashes, mouth opening but no sound coming out. Then he only murmurs, “I have not...”

And Maitimo snaps, “You _have_. It feels like the longest I have ever gone without seeing you, and when you see me coming, you run the other way. Even before we were one, we were friends—why have you cut me off? It _hurts_ , Káno.”

Findekáno winces and mutters, “Sorry. I am sorry.” He sounds genuine—always is, but it doesn’t ease the ache in Maitimo’s chest. 

“What have I done?” Maitimo asks. He’s asked himself the same question many times, poured over every last detail of their last joining, but it was as joyous as it always was. “Is it something my father has done? I know he has not been overly kind to yours of late...”

“No, no,” Findekáno insists, and he shakes his head before glancing up to hold Maitimo’s eyes, promising. “I would not leave you for the actions of another.” 

“Then what?”

“I just... you are...” Finally, Findekáno leans close to hiss, “You are of _age_ now.” He says it like it holds the weight of the world.

Confused, Maitimo returns, “I have been of age for a long time.”

“No,” Findekáno mutters, shaking his head. He’s clearly frustrated, and Maitimo can see the struggle in him but holds firm. Maitimo needs these answers. Findekáno runs a pink tongue over his mouth, oddly hesitant, though it just makes Maitimo want to kiss him. Slowly, Findekáno explains, “I have... I overheard my father speaking with our uncle. I should not have, I know, but I was coming over the hill to show my father the jewel I had found—do not ask me what now; I have forgotten it, and everything, in the midst of this—and what I caught before I could announce myself was enough.”

“And they said?” Maitimo pushes, still curious, although now he has some idea—he’s received his own grave talk from his father recently.

Findekáno confirms his guess, whispering fast again, “You are of the age when your body can bear _children._ ”

Maitimo says nothing. He remembers the conversation with his father, and how it was of a private thing, though of course his uncles might know, he must have cousins with the same parts in their bodies that will come to their own fruition. Findekáno doesn’t. He has the more common anatomy to Elven males, and those parts mature quicker, coming to fertility at the usual coming of age. Maitimo’s never shunned Findekáno for that, for being different than him and already fertile, and he never thought Findekáno would shun him, either. Perhaps at the mix of confusion and hurt on his face, Findekáno quickly adds, “I am sorry, Nelyo, I am. I had thought... I had just assumed you would not wish to see me anymore. That we should end it. This just seemed... it seemed easier.”

Cold to his core, Maitimo asks hollowly, “You wish to end it?”

“Of course not,” Findekáno hisses. He glances back about the corridor, sees them alone and gathers Maitimo’s hands into his, bringing back the warmth. He squeezes them, then holds them both together with one and lifts the second to Maitimo’s cheek, stroking it and slipping back to cup it, fingertips caressing the bottom of Maitimo’s ear. Maitimo’s always been sensitive there, and his lashes flutter, his face leaning into Findekáno’s touch no matter how wounded he feels. “I love you,” Findekáno promises, powerful for how quiet he is. “That is why I avoided you; I could not bear to see you and not have you. The thought of simply knowing you, of remaining friends without the ability to hold you in my arms felt... Nelyo, I do not think I could do it. But we... we are cousins. We cannot sire a child together. It would reveal us, and our families would be furious...”

“So we will not,” Maitimo answers. With great effort, he removes his hands from Findekáno’s grip, only to hold one over Findekáno’s hand, keeping it pressed to his cheek. The other he uses to splay over Findekáno’s chest, until he can feel the beat of Findekáno’s steady heart through the fabric and his palm. There have been times when they’ve laid together in bed and done nothing but hold one another and try to match their pulses to each other, breathing as one. Maitimo could give that up no easier than Findekáno. Just as fiercely as his cousin, Maitimo hisses, “There are many other things we can do, new things that we can try, and even if we could do nothing we could still _be_ together. We will simply have to be careful.”

“We will have to be so, so careful.”

“Do you not think this worth it?”

Findekáno flinches, but he’s given no chance to answer as vehemently as he looks, because Maitimo lunges forward to kiss him. Their mouths flatten together, their bodies colliding so hard that Maitimo accidentally knocks Findekáno back into the pillar of the arch. It’s only fleeting, as it can be, just in case—they’re nowhere safe, not yet, and both check the corridor when they’re finished. But then Maitimo’s mutters, “I do not want to be without you. I will not. The last few days of you avoiding me have been torture.”

For about half a second, Findekáno remains firm in his hesitation. Then he buckles in Maitimo’s arms, and he’s the one latching onto Maitimo, this time in a tight hug that crushes them together. This they could pass as the love of friends or cousins, and Maitimo clings to him back, lingering. “I am sorry,” Findekáno whispers over his shoulder. “I have been a coward.”

Into Findekáno’s hair, Maitimo mumbles, “You are never a coward. You thought what you were doing was right. You were just wrong.”

Findekáno pulls back enough to kiss Maitimo’s cheek and repeat, “I am sorry.” 

Maitimo feels far better for this, but when they detangle, he still wrinkles his nose and says, play-pouting, “You will have to make it up to me.”

“I would already do anything you wished, my Maitimo,” Findekáno answers, grinning wide. So Maitimo leans to whisper into his ear a lewd, dirty fantasy that came to in the dead of night and may never have been spoken otherwise. When Maitimo’s finished, Findekáno’s cheeks are red.

But his eyes and mouth are smiling, and he takes Maitimo’s hand in his to sneak off down the corridor like children lost in play.


End file.
